Page 65 of Enemies to French Kisses
“Marc? Is that you?”
Her swollen eyes blink in the halogen lights.
“I’m here.” I rush to turn off the lights, as she hasn’t opened her eyes in several hours. Her hand is burning hot as I take it in my own, but her skin is softer than the Atlantic sands.
“Thank you.” She rubs her eyes with the hand that has an I.V. in it, then pulls her hand away like it doesn’t belong to her. “What’s all this?”
“You’ve been in and out of sleep for,” I check my watch, “the better part of twelve hours.”
“Doing what?” Her eyes are so earnest that I can’t stop myself from smiling.
“You ate a snail.”
“Gross.” Her brow furrows. “That doesn’t explain anything.”
“It seems you’re allergic to snails.”
“I am?” She looks up and far away. “I played with snails in my mom’s garden box all the time when I was a kid. It was only a four by four foot box, but she managed to grow some carrots. Some days all we ate were carrots.” She looks back at me. “I’m not allergic to carrots.”
“Seemingly not. Just snails.” I smooth her hair. “But you’d better rest. You seem confused.”
Her eyes clear on hearing that. “Well, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black.” She clears her throat. “I mean, how are you feeling now?”
The door to the hospital room flies open. “This is the question of the hour!” The doctor approaches Laura’s bedside and saves me from a moment that I knew was coming for the last week. To my surprise, it’s the same doctor who treated me what feels like a lifetime ago.
“Ah,c’est un promo! I see I get a two-for-one deal.” He offers his hand for me to shake. “How is the—" He points to his head.
Laura is watching me intently. I try to speak but it sticks. Even clearing my throat barely helps and I sound like a true frog as I reply. “Much better,merci.”
“Excellent.Alors, let’s look to the present patient, hm?” I could be wrong, but I could swear he’s looking unusually long at Laura, and not in the usual way. “How is my best American patient doing?”
“I bet I’m your only American patient, aren’t I?”
He purses his lips. “You can be the best or the worst, it’s your choice. Now, tell me about how you are feeling.”
“Maybe I should go.” I move toward the door.
“Spouses are welcome,” the doctor says with an eyebrow raised.
“Just to offer a little privacy,” I say as I get out of there almost faster than is appropriate. Something about him felt… strange. Like being caught with my hand in the cookie jar, even though he only gave me the best possible care. I’m ungrateful perhaps, but why did he have to look at us like we weren’t actually married at all?
We aren’t, of course, but that’s beside the point.
Hospital hallways are not designed for reflection on the meaning of life, but I can’t be the first to be asking big questions as I stroll in search of a coffee machine. What time is it? Eleven in the morning. Very appropriate for a coffee, not that I care about that.
The truth is about to come out—we can’t carry this on any longer. She has to return to her home and my job is only to make sure she realizes how I feel about her.
The rest will be up to her.
In all the movies, this is the easy part. The woman in her hospital bed sees the sincerity in the man’s eyes as he showers her with flowers and compliments. And she sees the fire of love in his eyes that will never extinguish.
That’s all I have to do. Show her the fire in my eyes.
I can do that. I convince people every day through my marketing prowess, my suave manner of influencing, my honest but gentle push toward closing the deal.
Now to do the same with Laura. But since day one, I’ve gotten everything wrong with her. No pressure, I just have to get thisright.
I’m relieved to find the doctor isn’t in her room anymore.
